Masquerade
by Avirra
Summary: Illya is going undercover with a new partner to get information on a THRUSH agent - that partner is Mrs. Waverly. An extended story based on a snippet used for the Tuesday PicFic of 10/16/2012.
1. Part I - The Ball

**Masquerade**

**Part I - The Ball**

Undercover work, for the most part, was something Illya Kuryakin could enjoy. It was something that he had discovered early that he had something of a flair for. Throwing himself into another personality was always something of a challenge and there was something inside of him that always rose in response to that challenge. What had him on edge for this mission was the person that he was partnered with. Namely the wife of his boss - Millicent Waverly.

Part of Illya rebelled at putting a woman of her age into a possibly dangerous situation, but when questioned, he couldn't think of anyone else who would be better suited for the role of a lonely, wealthy widow. The THRUSH man they needed to get closer to was rumored to have gained his fortune through a series of relationships with older women of means and Mrs. Waverly fit his preferences to such an uncanny degree that he knew it must bother Mister Waverly.

Regardless, whatever else could be said about the Old Man, he was genuine in his beliefs about the importance of a mission. However, that didn't mean that he wasn't going to have his wife going in without the maximum protection that he could provide without drawing too much suspicion. So Illya was there portraying her doting son with Napoleon Solo posing as their family's chauffeur.

For her part, Mrs. Waverly seemed an enthusiastic participant as she adjusted her mask before they exited the car. It reminded him of a representation of the Firebird - all gold and red feathers that matched well with the colors of her gown. He put on his own mask which looked bird like as well and was also done in red and gold, but without any feathers.

"Do you know that it has been ages since I have attended a masquerade ball, Lev?"

Illya smiled down at Mrs. Waverly as he continued to push her wheelchair into the ballroom, as fully immersed in his role as she was in hers.

"I seem to remember that you met Papa at a masquerade ball, Mama."

"Yes, that's right, darling. Let's go over there, if you don't mind. I would love to watch the dancers."

As he wheeled the chair to a position with a good view of the dance floor, Illya recalled when Mrs. Waverly had been asked to take part in the mission. He, Napoleon and Mister Waverly had all watched with a touch of bemusement as Mrs. Waverly deftly picked over and rejected the majority of the jewelry pieces that had been brought to complete this image for her undercover role. Mister Waverly's one remark suggesting a more elaborate piece than one she had chosen was met with a remark frosty enough that it could have come straight from the Artic Circle.

"Alexander, I am not going out in public, even in disguise, looking anything like Lavinia Wilkinson Smythe."

The name meant nothing at all to either Illya or Napoleon, but Mister Waverly looked as chastised as Illya could ever remember and he made no additional suggestions concerning his wife's choices in jewelry for the role.

Looking around the room, Illya studied some of the other ladies present. A few looked as if they had been too close to an explosion at a jewelry store, but that seemed to be more a trait of the younger ladies or those who had married well above their station. The majority of the ladies that he knew to be from old money handled their jewelry as Mrs. Waverly had - a few pieces here and there - glitters to draw the eye, but nothing to suggest any of their limbs were frosting over.

Comparing her further with the other ladies present, Illya could now appreciate the care Mrs. Waverly had taken. All of the pieces she was wearing were well-made and most classically styled, but some of them were obviously older pieces - ones that hinted to jewelry that had been hers for a long time or were possibly inherited. Regardless, the older pieces mixed with a few of newer styles spoke of a long history of wealth that had not dwindled away over the years.

They both knew that the bait had been taken as a blonde in a strapless black gown, wearing an equally black mask made of lace, came toward them. She was the daughter of their target and it was plain that her flirting was with the intent to separate 'Lev' from his 'mother'. His 'mother' urged it along.

"I will be fine here, Lev. You are still young – enjoy yourself. After all, you never know when lightning will strike, but you can be sure it will never strike if you never go out into the rain."

A genuine soft laugh came from Illya at that as he leaned over and lightly kissed her cheek.

"Fine. But I will not be far if you need me, Mama."

It was about five minutes later that their man made his initial move.

"The young man in red and gold is with you, isn't he, Madam?"

"He is indeed. My youngest child. The young lady he is with seems most charming and seems more well-bred than the majority here tonight."

"I will accept that compliment on her behalf as well as take partial credit for it."

"You must be her father then?"

"I am indeed young Francesca's father. I feel I am acting inappropriately - speaking to you when we have not yet been introduced. But since we are all masked, perhaps we could cast convention aside and exchange first names, Madam?"

She gave a soft laugh and offered her hand to him.

"If this is the most inappropriate thing done here tonight, this shall be the dullest masquerade ball I have ever attended. You may call me Melliese, sir."

"Xavier, Madam – at your service. Your accent – Russian, is it not?"

"It is."

"I hope you won't be offended when I say that you look as I have always imagined the Grand Duchess Anastasia would look had her life not taken a tragic turn."

"No offense taken. She and I were only a year apart in age."

Illya glanced over the shoulder of his dance partner to where they stood, already talking as if they were old friends who had met again unexpectedly. For a moment, he worried about not being closer to Mrs. Waverly, but then he reminded himself that she had been a part of this world along with Mister Waverly far longer than he had. Mentally filing away his worry, he returned his attention to his dance partner, using his lingering glance for conversation.

"It would seem that Mama has found someone to talk with."

Francesca glanced over and showed a very credible expression of surprise.

"You will think I am making a jest, but that's my father chatting with her."

Pretending to be pleased by that, Illya drew her closer.

"Well then, I think that possibly you and I can trust them to entertain one another a bit longer. If you don't mind another dance."

"I would enjoy another dance very much, Lev."

Millicent smiled as she watched Illya led Francesca into the next dance.

"It seems your daughter has charmed my son as well as myself."

Taking a chair next to her to put them on the same level, Xavier studied her features to what could be considered a rude degree. Millicent chose to treat it with humor.

"You are starting to make me wish for a mirror to check to see if my nose is shiny."

He smiled back at her and began apologizing.

"I certainly did not mean to cause you any embarrassment. I was admiring the color of your eyes. Was your hair as blonde as your son's or more reddish?"

That question confirmed in her mind the way that Xavier's thoughts were headed, so she decided to play along. It was, after all, her job on this mission to get and hold his interest. Besides, she could truthfully say her hair was strawberry blonde when she was a girl. She had dyed it that color once and she preferred to avoid out and out lying whenever possible. It made keeping track of one's story much easier than spinning a tale from pure imagination did.

"Not very red, but it did have some reddish tones to it."

Her answer pleased him as she expected that it would. Why people were so endlessly fascinated by the Grand Duchess Anastasia was something she had never figured out to her personal satisfaction, but it was plain that he was trying to cast her in the role. He leaned closer to her speaking too softly for anyone else to overhear.

"Doesn't it bother you? Having to forsake your birthright?"

"My parents gave me life and I have not only kept my own life, but have continued our bloodline. I have forsaken nothing of lasting value."

He gave her a smile again.

"A woman with her priorities straight, I see. Tell me, are you in this area for long?"

"Just passing through, really. I'm afraid I've fallen into the bad habit of wandering since losing my husband. But I am seeing the world and my son is seeing it with me."

"Just the two of you?"

"Just us and our servants. I suppose we could do without them, but I am old enough to argue that I am too set in my ways to change my habits now."

Laughing, Xavier nodded.

"What good is having money if you cannot use it to have things as you prefer them around you, Melliese? I can't imagine that you travel with a household full."

She laughed lightly at that herself.

"Hardly. Just three. Our chauffeur, my personal maid and my son's valet. Anyone else would just be underfoot while we are traveling."

They both looked up as the music ended and Illya led Francesca back over. Francesca turned up her smile and addressed Millicent - who was rather pleasantly surprised that the young woman spoke to her in a normal tone instead of assuming she was either half-deaf or slightly mentally incompetent.

"I do hope my father hasn't done something dreadful and talk nonstop about his last fishing trip."

"Not at all, dear child. I have found your father to be a most interesting conversationalist."

Francesca's face lit up as if she had suddenly been struck by inspiration.

"Father, I know it is terribly short notice, but please do ask them to our house party. You have such wonderful musicians hired and not a soul invited that I can dance with who will not tread on my toes."

Illya noted that Xavier could manage a credible flush to mimic embarrassment.

"A similar thought had crossed my mind, but -"

He paused and then straightened as he faced Millicent.

"Please do not take our invitation wrongly, but it would certainly be a pleasure to have you and your son join us at our home next weekend. I would most certainly welcome a chance to continue our conversation at length. We have room enough to accommodate you and your servants."

Illya moved slightly closer to Millicent and she took his hand, patting it fondly as she looked up at him. They exchanged a smile and then she looked back to Xavier.

"Formality has its place, of course, but heaven forbid that we should ever take insult to an offer of hospitality. As it happens, we had not yet made any plans for this coming weekend. We would be delighted to join your other guests."

"Excellent!"

Before Xavier could continue, the announcement was made that the time had come for the unmasking to begin.

As the four moved toward the main gathering, Illya wondered for a moment just how many in the ballroom were like the four of them and would still be wearing masks even after the outer masks were removed.


	2. Part II - The Mission Briefing

**Part II - The Mission Briefing**

One unfamiliar with Mister Waverly might have taken his response to the events at the ball as interested, but emotionally neutral. But of those currently present, three of the five in the room with him knew better than that and even the other two had their doubts.

"An invitation to a house party at the Fontes estate. So, you have not only managed to get access to the area, but will even be staying in the house itself. Excellent work."

Millicent gave a soft chuckle - mostly due to the insincerity she heard in her husband's voice. Despite the need to infiltrate this particular THRUSH stronghold, she knew Alexander would have far preferred it if Xavier had not risen to the bait.

"Giving credit where it is due, Mister Xavier Fontes rather sold himself on the idea rather than it being due to any cleverness on my part. He was the one who decided to cast me in the role of a Russian noble in exile."

"Don't sell your part short, Mrs. Waverly. Your fish may have hooked himself, but you were the one that made use of that and reeled him in."

Mark and April looked a bit lost.

"Wait - Russian nobility?"

"Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanova to be exact, Mister Slate. No offense to you, but I cannot say that I see it myself, Millicent my dear."

"Oh, there are several small similarities beyond us both having a mix of English and Russian blood, Alexander. She and I were close of age, though I was her elder by a year. We both had blue eyes, but differed in hair coloration in that I was a blonde while she was a strawberry blonde. Though, of course, at my current age, childhood hair coloration can hardly be examined. The Grand Duchess was also prone to being a bit chubby as I recall hearing, but again - that hardly has any bearing on appearances this many years later. The only real physical aberration is that I wasn't born having a deformity to my left foot, but the explosion that damaged my back also caused considerable scarring on that foot so I suppose that we may consider that point to be covered as well."

Illya rose and moved quietly to the stocked sideboard in the room, making two cups of tea. He left one by his own seat and then sat a cup of tea in front of Mrs. Waverly before retaking his chair.

"Oh, how kind. Thank you, Illya."

As she took the cup in hand, Millicent paused before putting it to her lips.

"I may be reading Mister Fontes incorrectly, but he rather strikes me as the sort that will blithely ignore anything that disputes the truth as he wishes it to be."

"So, since he has always harbored a desire to meet Velikaya Knyazhna Anastasia, he will see her in you to fulfil that wish?"

"I do think that is the case, Illya."

Napoleon settled back in his chair slightly.

"That will work to our advantage. Self-deception is the hardest type of deception to see through."

After a momentary hesitation, Mister Waverly gave what appeared to be a grudging nod.

"Hmm. You may be correct, Mister Solo. For this house party, you and Mister Kuryakin will be continuing to portray the same roles you did at the Ball. I trust that is not a problem."

The two answered in near unison.

"No, sir."

"No problem at all, sir."

"Now, Miss Dancer and Mister Slate - you have, I trust, already been informed of your roles?"

Both agents nodded, April speaking up first.

"I am Erminie Reynolds, a combination of personal secretary, assistant, maid and companion to Melliese Fouquet."

Mark took up when April stopped.

"And I am Jeffrey McKinney, playing the same functions to Lev Fouquet as Erminie does to his mother. Well, with the exception of being a valet rather than a maid."

"Quite right. Now, as servants, the three of you will be the ones to do the investigations while Millicent and Mister Kuryakin keep their hosts occupied. Mister Solo?"

"Yes, Mister Waverly. To continue, being invited to the house party is both a great opportunity and extremely risky. We suspect that over fifteen percent of THRUSH's total world activities are watched over by Xavier Fontes - at least to some degree. The only times when known agents have been seen coming and going have been at the house parties at the Fontes mansion. These take place about once a month. We also believe that he is the 'bank' for their agents in the region, arranging for funds for them as necessary for assignments."

"So if we manage to close down this bank branch, we would clip the wings of quite a few THRUSHies and possibly derail several operations to boot."

"Exactly, Mark. Agents from that region have tried to infiltrate before, but it has never come out well. We've lost people there."

"Which is why we were asked to lend a hand to that U.N.C.L.E. branch. Millicent, we are about to start going over some rather dry details if you would rather wait in my office."

"You needn't make excuses, Alexander. I can take a hint well enough. Besides, I really should brush up on the Czar and his family before weekend."

"A good idea, my dear. I'll have one of the secretaries fetch the file and bring it to you."

Things were paused briefly as Mrs. Waverly left and Mister Waverly made the call to get the file delivered to his office. After hanging the phone back up, Mister Waverly slowly looked from one agent to the next.

"The four of you are acutely aware that I am entrusting you with far more than this mission?"

All nodded as Napoleon spoke.

"We are, Mister Waverly. We'll take good care of her, sir."

"I will hold all of you to that."


	3. Part III - Considering the Web

**Part III - Considering the Web**

On the day they were expected at the Fontes home, Napoleon slipped into his chauffeur's uniform as well as the character of the role he was taking on. He held the rear door as Millicent Waverly, Illya and Mark settled in, then opened the front passenger door for April, who had the map as well as a set of directions to their destination.

Sliding into the driver's seat, Napoleon took a moment to adjust his mirrors. He found himself using the mirror to glance at his passengers and noted an expression on Millicent's face that gave him an odd feeling. Before starting the car, he turned slightly.

"Is there something wrong, Mrs. Waverly?"

There was a pause before she responded.

"For a moment, I was about to say it was nothing, but I forgot my present company. I daresay that all of you have been in situations where everything seems to be as you expect with nothing obviously out of line, yet you still get an uneasy feeling?"

Illya met her eyes.

"You have that feeling?"

"I do. Perhaps I have been away from the field too long and my instincts are not as reliable as they once were, but disregarding them out of hand seems foolish."

"Remember when you accepted my invitation and we went horseback riding together for the first time?"

A smile formed on Millicent's face and her eyes grew warmer.

"Oh yes. That was delightful."

"You had not lost your feel for riding. I doubt you have lost your feel for field work."

April gave a vigorous nod as she turned to speak as well.

"Illya is quite right. No second guessing yourself."

Mark spoke up then.

"Would you mind telling us your impressions?"

"Vague disquiet. The man we're after took the bait - me, but not for the reasons that I was chosen. Shall we reconsider what our THRUSH agent is after?"

A slow nod came from Illya.

"I believe that my thoughts have been going along paths similar to your own, so please allow me see if I am following you correctly. You now believe that he has been with the prior ladies because of their age and their looks, not because of their money."

Mark frowned a bit, thinking that over.

"So the pair of you are thinking that him getting rich from the women was a side effect. But - does that mean you think his real motives are that he's actually been trying to find the real Anastasia?"

Millicent paused for only a moment before giving a firm nod.

"Yes. There weren't questions from him that I would have expected - ones that would have been geared toward sniffing around about what money I might have. A woman of my age wandering from pillar to post could just as easily be subsisting on a diminishing bank account due to more substantial things such as land being sold off to maintain her lifestyle to some degree. If he were after wealth, that wouldn't be the sort of woman he would be inclined to waste his energies on."

Mark's frown deepened, then he sat up straighter.

"Good Lord. So if that is the case, then him getting rid of the others wouldn't have been because he wanted their money. He might have gotten rid of them after he decided that they actually weren't the Grand Duchess he's searching for?"

Listening to the exchanges while starting the car, Napoleon turned back around.

"Which leads to the question of how he determines that the other women weren't the one he was looking for. It's not too late to back out of this, Mrs. Waverly."

"There will never be another opportunity like this one, dear boy. This is the best chance to get more than one agent inside. We all already knew there was risk involved."

The ride to the estate was a quiet trip after that, but the silence wasn't a easy one. As the car approached the immense wrought iron gates that marked the entrance, April turned her head toward the back again. April was not normally the type to fidget, but she was starting to.

"I just wish there was a way to know the sort of risk. I mean, will it be worse if he decides you are or aren't Anastasia?"

"I suppose we shall have to play this one by ear, my dears."

As if those words were a cue, the gates began to swing slowly open.

"'Will you walk into my parlor?' said the Spider to the Fly."*

"Creepy poetry isn't helping, Illya."

"Sorry, April."

"No more of those names once we pass these gates, Miss Reynolds."

"Yes, Madam Fouquet."

Feeling a sense of foreboding himself, Illya took a glance back as Napoleon drove the car through the opening and the gates started to close slowly behind him. His eyes met Mark's briefly and they exchanged a nod. They would all need to be alert and wary in the parlor of this particular spider.

* * *

*From the poem 'The Spider and the Fly' by Mary Howitt


End file.
